


Sugar & Spice

by J_Bell



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Bell/pseuds/J_Bell
Summary: Felicity being the better person, because Oliver has been less than courteous with her of late. [Mid-season 2]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon scene insertion. I just finished season 2 on Netflix yesterday, and, man, _these two_.

The glass jar, filled with brown powder and smelling sweetly of coffee and peppers, stood ominously on his desk when Oliver came into his office that morning. He examined it curiously: the red bow which adorned the lid, the obvious hand-made-ness of it, the fact that it contained powdered cappuccino.

 

“Felicity?” he called out. “What’s this?”

 

His trusted, treasured EA was by the door, hugging folders and with a set jaw. “Good morning to you, too, _Mr. Queen_.”

 

Oliver did a double take, but managed to smile mechanically. Felicity Mr.-Queen-ing him first thing in the morning did not bode well. “Good morning, _Ms. Smoak_. Do you happen to know what this is?”

 

Felicity dropped the files on his desk. “Oh, you know, this is me being the better person.”

 

Since Oliver seemed genuinely confused, she continued. “Well, I understand that it hasn’t exactly been easy for you lately – also in the past six years or so, I guess – even if we’ve only known each other for just over a year – but I _know_ it was shit for you, especially with Laurel being drunk on Verdant last night, and you getting raked with a metal claw on the shoulder – but thing is, you’ve also been bitching at me, even though I’ve done nothing but help save your very tight ass over and over, so I thought I’d be the better person and–“

 

“And give me a cappuccino mix?”

 

She crossed her arms. “And _make_ you my famous spicy _hot cocoa_ mix. It’s completely vegan, by the way. And I stand by my contract which says I do not make you or bring you hot beverages, or any beverage, in fact.”

 

Oliver looked between her, flustered short miracle of a human being, and the jar of hot cocoa, promise of sugary redemption. “Felicity.”

 

“Yes, Oliver?”

 

He settled the jar atop the files she had brought in, faced her fully and, to Felicity’s utter amazement, hugged her. “ _Thank you_.”

 

How out of character for her to run out of words; nevertheless, she managed to nod, and to register the fact that she loved his perfume and that his chest felt delicious pressed against hers. Felicity had to admit she was very impressed by her brain’s ability to register anything at the same time that it seemed to have given up on coordinating her body movements.

 

“And I’m sorry,” Oliver continued, sadly pulling back a little to look into her eyes.

 

Damn, _his eyes_. She shook herself. “All’s forgiven, so long as you watch who you unload on. Not in a dirty way. Although, yeah, you should probably watch that, too. No, not _watch_ , I meant – I’ll just stop talking now. Yes.”

 

Oh, _Felicity_ ; Oliver smiled. “I will.”

 

He let her go, she untangled herself, and awkwardly bounced back to her office. He followed her to it with the mix jar in hand, then to the coffee machine, picked up his and her mugs, and proceeded to make them both delicious spicy hot cocoa.

 

“So,” Felicity began coyly from her desk, curling a strand of hair on her finger, “how do you like it?”

 

Oliver’s ridiculously blue eyes fell closed as he tasted the warm liquid, almost as if they were rolling back in the sockets. Felicity suppressed a shiver. When he lowered the mug – with a chocolate moustache – and _grinned_ at her, she suppressed nothing any longer.

 

“ _Perfect_ ,” he said before thanking her again and giving her a kiss on her forehead as he placed her own mug in front of her. And then asking about his nine o’clock, but Felicity was still fixating on the smear of chocolate on her forehead. She had a feeling she would be for a while. Also, she probably should tell him about it. Chocolate moustaches tended to annoy Isabel Rochev – not that Oliver had ever _had_ a chocolate moustache, but she was certain his self-proclaimed business partner would be less than thrilled by it.

 

Speaking of thrilled, Felicity did _not_ picture herself licking his upper lip clean; no sir, she most certainly did _not._


End file.
